


Never A Cross Word

by TheGoodDoctor



Category: Father Brown (2013)
Genre: But not in the way you're thinking, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 15:53:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9332345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGoodDoctor/pseuds/TheGoodDoctor
Summary: In his shirtsleeves, pushed up to show his forearms, and without his customary thoughtful frown, Sullivan could be Gene Kelly; albeit slightly grumpier. The thought makes Sid smile: though he makes a poor Donald O’Connor, Bunty certainly looks the part of Debbie Reynolds with her neat hair and make-up, legs folded elegantly where she sits at the table with the paper.He doesn't mention this, however, as Susie is distinctly unlikely to appreciate the comparison to Lina Lamont and the ink on their wedding certificate is still tacky and smudgeable.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [combefaerie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/combefaerie/gifts), [Sirenswhisper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sirenswhisper/gifts).



Sid can't seem to quite get his feet to operate beneath him. He yawns expansively, stumbling down the corridor in the pale dawn light to stick his head under the bathroom tap. Shaking and shivering like a dog to remove the drops from his fringe, Sid assesses his reflection and scratches his stubble thoughtfully. Deciding not to bother with dressing yet, he slings a dressing gown over his bare chest and hikes his cotton trousers slightly higher on his hips as he thunders down the narrow wooden staircase.

He smells the kitchen before he makes it there: bacon and eggs, it would appear. Yawning again, he prays for coffee as he meanders through the hallway to lean in the doorway. A smile rises unbidden to his lips.

Suzie and Sullivan are engaged in some kind of elaborate dance at the counter and range, swirling past and around each other to stir eggs and flip bacon and toast bread. They're both dressed already, all swirling skirt and suit, hair perfectly neat and combed. In his shirtsleeves, pushed up to show his forearms, and without his customary thoughtful frown, Sullivan could be Gene Kelly; albeit slightly grumpier. The thought makes Sid smile: though he makes a poor Donald O’Connor, Bunty certainly looks the part of Debbie Reynolds with her neat hair and make-up, legs folded elegantly where she sits at the table with the paper.

He doesn't mention this, however, as Susie is distinctly unlikely to appreciate the comparison to Lina Lamont and the ink on their wedding certificate is still tacky and smudgeable.

Bunty clears her throat, smirking over the enormous broadsheet, when she decides he's spent enough time admiring Sullivan's arms. “Hungry, Sid?” she says teasingly.

Sid grins at her as the other two look over. “Been working up an appetite all night.”

Sullivan turns bright red, returning quickly to the pan in front of him. Susie huffs and rolls her eyes as Bunty cackles approvingly.

“You're both incorrigible,” Susie sighs, the corner of her mouth twitching as though she would rather like to smile.

Bunty picks up a pen and scribbles in the paper. “Twelve letters, impossible to change. You're a delight, darling.”

Sid pushes himself off the door and wanders up behind Susie to squeeze her shoulders. “You married me, it's your own fault.” She swats his hands away and he transfers his attentions to Sullivan, winding bare arms around his waist. Sid buries his face in Sullivan's waistcoat and feels the other man relax into his grip.

“Good morning,” Sullivan rumbles softly and Sid smiles against his back. He looks up to see the inspector smiling softly down at him and his knees go weak. Sullivan wraps his fingers around the hands entwined over his stomach, squeezing then disentangling them. Sid whines plaintively and Sullivan laughs softly, ducking his head.

Susie picks up two plates, handing one to Sid as she propels him to the table to sit opposite Bunty and sits to his right. Sullivan delivers Bunty’s to her and sits to Sid’s left, huffing when his deft fingers wind into the inspector’s own. Susie pushes the corner of the newspaper down, raising an elegant eyebrow at Bunty, who suddenly realises the presence of food before her and drops the paper with a smile.

The light of the morning is pale and pastel, sneaking in through slightly dusty glass to glance off china and silver, casting curious shadow and refraction on the table as glasses of orange juice and cups of coffee are quietly drunk. Bunty quietly passes toast to her left before Susie can ask, and in return gets a gentle rub of their ankles. Sid drops two sugar cubes into his coffee and three into Sullivan's without a thought and is given the last slice of bacon for his troubles. The morning is quiet and calm, in a bubble of isolation and pale, golden light which sparkles on the two thick, silver bands and two skinny golden ones.

Sullivan rubs his ring when he thinks, Sid notices. Gently, he kicks the other man's ankle. His curiosity earns him a glare, but without any real feeling, so he presses with a cheeky smile and tilted head.

Sullivan sighs and looks back into the dregs of his coffee as if it held the answers he sought. “What will they think of us?” he says sadly.

Bunty rolls her eyes. “Stuff them, I say. The better question is: ten letters, meaning pensive or sad.” She gestures to her crossword and looks up at them expectantly.

Sid shrugs. “Sullivan?”

Bunty puts down the paper and pen to better look at him disapprovingly. “Ten letters, Sidney. This is basic mathematics.”

Susie entwines her fingers with Bunty’s, who takes it as a hint to be quiet. “She has a point. What does it matter?”

“If Father Brown and Mrs McCarthy hate us? If I lose my job?” he says morosely.

Sid leans into his shoulder and presses a kiss to his jaw. “You know they won't hate us.”

Sullivan's breath ghosts through his hair as he gently kisses Sid’s hair. “We don't know that.”

Susie kisses Bunty’s cheek as she stands to start washing up. “We can be reasonably confident, however.”

“And while I hate to play the privilege card, _dear husband_ ,” Bunty says with deliberate emphasis, “with my money and family connections - which are yours now too - it really doesn't matter if you lose your job. My family hasn't had a proper job for generations.”

This makes Sullivan laugh gently and Sid grins, insinuating himself onto his lap through creative cuddling. Sullivan wraps his arms around the smaller chauffeur and holds him close, head tucked under his chin. Bunty follows Susie up, stretching gracefully and allowing the silk sleeves of her dressing gown to slide down her long pale arms. She places her hands on Susie’s waist and presses gentle kisses to her neck.

“If it makes you feel any better, Inspector,” comes a calm voice from the doorway, “we've known for some time now.”

The couples stare in stunned silence at the trio in the doorway. Father Brown is beaming, and Lady Felicia has a grin which Susie associates with Bunty and silk sheets and...well. It's triumphant, pleased and proud, and she can feel the shape of Bunty’s mouth curve into its reflection against the soft skin of Susie’s neck.

The silence stretches into the room, like the sunbeams struggling into the room, through the dust motes dancing in the heavy stillness.

It is abruptly broken. “Sidney! Penelope! It is ten in the morning and you are in a public room! Get dressed immediately!” Mrs McCarthy snaps, hands folded over her handbag in front of her to form an additional barrier against such immodesty.

Susie snorts softly and Bunty’s breath tickles the hairs on the back of her neck as she giggles. Sid grins at Mrs M and opens his mouth to say something stupid, but Sullivan ruthlessly ejects him from his lap before he has a chance. He manages to swipe a feel of Sid’s rear as he leaves, though, which is subtle enough for Mrs M but makes Father Brown purse his lips and duck his head.

“You ought to get something for that cough of yours, Lady Felicia,” Susie remarks innocently.

“It's so sudden, you see,” she manages, wiping at the corner of her eye.

Bunty slings an arm around Sid’s shoulders as they head upstairs. “This might just work,” she says contemplatively.

Sid grins up at her. “I certainly hope so.”

On the landing she turns him to face her, hands on his shoulders. “Look after my husband, Sidney.”

“Look after my wife, Penelope,” he says, with a small smile.

She leans in and down, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Bunty scrunches up her nose and shakes her head. “I'm so not interested in men,” she laughs.

Sid shrugs. “‘He hath made every thing beautiful in his time: also he hath set the world in their heart.’ _I'm_ doing God's work, Bunty.”

Bunty laughs. “Of course the only bit of the Bible you know is the part excusing your own behaviour. You Evangelical, you.” A thought occurs to her. “That's eleven letters, isn't it? I knew you were good for something, Sid.” She vanishes into the room she shares with Susie, leaving Sid standing at the top of the stairs, shaking his head and wondering just how he got here.

And how he ended up so _happy._

**Author's Note:**

> This idea is very clever, and not remotely mine. Thus, it is a gift: for those far more inventive than I.


End file.
